Milk and Cookies
by Nefus de Twilight
Summary: ONE-SHOT. Knives is awake, and already scheming, but will he get schooled by the little addition to the Trigun family?


**AN**: I've been reading a lot of VxM fluff lately, and every time Meryl gets pregnant, she never has a boy! And then Knives never seems to meet the kid, or he does, but never really acknowledges he/(mostly)she. Well, a very evil plot bunny bit me in the ass and wouldn't let go until I did something about it. So, voila!

The genre thing above says humor/angst, but in truth, this is all one big tear inducing WAFF. Enjoy my, readlings!

**Disclaimer**: Me no owney the Trigun gang. I do own the weird little kid who has way too good of a vocabulary though.

* * *

How strange…the ceiling wasn't white as he had thought it was, but rather a deep blue. At least it must have been deep blue at some point in time; sand and scorching light from the double suns had turned it a peeling mass of yellowed by age paint chips desperately clinging to the graying base coat. He wanted it to be a deep blue. And so it was. Whole and smooth and fresh. Like it had been when they'd first laid him there.

Ironically enough, a spider, black and shiny, delicately stepped across the silken threads of its homespun web. Something equally as delicate flapped its buttercup colored wings, just out of reach of the sleek predator's intricate trap. That species is poisonous, he thought, a thin smile stretching unused muscles for the first time in months—years?—and ice-like eyes slid away from the show. Don't catch what you can't handle, little spider.

Slowly he sat up, acknowledging that he had been weakened, was still weak, from that damning duel. His brother was a fool, he decided, for letting him live. Did Vash really think he would let go of his ideals just because of being mortally wounded? By his own brother, his _twin_? If anything it only made him cling to those ideals more; he smiled bitterly and steadied himself on the chair he knew the occupants of the house used in shifts to watch over their invalid. These humans had filled his poor, gullible, trustful brother's head with silly, silly notions that had sent Vash to the oasis. To beat some sense into him, to hurt the only one that _truly_ cared for Vash.

The thought made his heart pump faster with anger, making his head throb uncomfortably. Vash had brought him here after that. _Here_, of all places, the home of a pair of female humans. He really wished his brother had left him out in the desert to die. It would have saved him the humiliation. Sigh. Poor Vash. He'd have to do something about this. As it was, he mused with that twisted smile as he grabbed the lukewarm doorknob, the two women had all but drove him past an edge of sanity he'd already breached and into something wholly different.

His body may have taken a disgustingly long time to heal, but his mind had been awake just days after that fight, free to wander around the surroundings as it wished. Even if he _had_ still been asleep, the racket raised in that house was enough to wake the dead. That woman, _Meryl_, he recalled as her name, had quite a pair of lungs on her. His hands twitched. Yes, she would be the first. A quick or slow death…? He was still fuzzy on the details, but he knew it would involve putting those lungs to use.

The other woman was just as loud at times, more so when someone stupidly put a bottle of cheap liquor in her hands. More often than not, his brother shamefully reduced himself into a similar pile of dull brain cells around the kitchen table, spewing more than obnoxious drinking songs. Still, he was annoyingly confused as to this one's age. Among the daily demands for pudding, a coherent thought actually made it past the utterances equal to five yearold's train of thought once in a while. She was interesting. He'd keep her around. For a while.

And then there was that _other_ human. It took a moment to pull a name out. He found it as he reached the bottom of the stairs that led to the first level of the two-story house. They creaked horribly, not that he cared. Oh the expressions on their faces when they would come in, happy, maybe tired, ready for breakfast, and found him sitting calmly at the table! Christopher! That was it. Christopher was another interesting one. He never heard that one speak, but Christopher seemed to have an interesting effect on Meryl. That one joined the human population of the house out of the blue one day, and hadn't left the presence of Meryl since. The woman complained a lot about Christopher and the things he did to her, but the relationship was obviously a close one. He didn't bother trying to understand.

There was also something unsettling about Christopher. Unlike the other members of the household, he seemed to be aware of the presence observing them unknowingly. Smart. But still human.

It was surprising when he passed under the vacant doorframe into the small kitchen and found the little boy sitting at the table, in the precise seat that he himself had planned to sit in. The one that was unspokenly reserved for Vash, the one that faced the door on the far side of the round table. The young human sat, a cookie in one hand from the chipped plate in front of him, dripping with milk from the tall glass next to the plate and stared fascinated by the lazily spinning overhead fan. One of the blades was bent, drawing the eyes to follow it in a dizzy circle.

Although he had never seen the boy with his eyes, the ambience was recognized. "Christopher."

He greeted the boy with his usual chillingly calm voice, a little raspy from disuse only made it more fear inducing. A nice touch, he thought, expecting the boy to squeak in terror or something amusing like that. He did _not_, however, expect him to _smile_ and continue his fan watching without so much as a glance at the man in the kitchen doorway!

"Hello, Uncle Knives!" Christopher chirped, and took a bite from his cookie. "'anna ukie?"

For the first time in over one hundred and thirty years, Knives was struck dumb. Did that kid just call him '_Uncle Knives_'? Then that had to mean Vash had…but with who? He scowled as he scrutinized this boy who dared to associate himself to the superior line. The thought of his brother even thinking of doing those sorts of _things_ with a human made his stomach turn. He'd copulated with the species that was the bane of his existence and produced this…thing. This child, with his pale hair and deep blue eyes, mole on the left cheek and a business-like manner of ignoring his uncle while engrossed in a child's task of fascination with electric appliances, had _dared_ to be born and dirty the Plant blood!

Well, there was no doubt what he had to do now. The boy had to die. Vash would understand.

"Why do you want to kill me?" The innocent voice asked, eyes finally leaving their game to fixate on the older Plant just as he made the decision. Christopher took another bite of his cookie, effectively unnerving his uncle. The boy had made Knives actually think _why_. Knives didn't like that. Not one bit. Still…

"Why shouldn't I kill you?" he countered coolly, leaning a still sore shoulder into the doorframe. His mind talents had apparently been passed on. Hmm…

_Why aren't you frightened of me?_

Christopher just smiled and shrugged both shoulders. "I'm just not. But you're scared of me. I think that's why you want to kill me. But I don't get _why_ you're scared of me."

Knives actually laughed. All right, he'd humor the kid a little longer. "Scared. Of you. Come now, surely you can give me more credit than that."

"Why should I?" Christopher sipped his milk and made a face. It was beginning to turn warm. "What have _you_ done in your life?"

"Insolent little—" The enraged Plant thundered forward on a silent cloud of imminent death. "How dare you—"

"Careful, Uncle Knives." The boy cut him off. A sharp pain had started in Knives' chest, leaving the Plant seeing red in frustration, and breathing harder than he would have liked. Damn Vash! Damn him _and_ his dirty seedling! Knives had him dangling by the front of his little blue nightshirt, despite the strain in his shoulder.

"What right do you have to speak to me in such a way?" He was beyond anger; if Vash hadn't taken his gun, the runt would have already been silenced.

Curiously, it did not seem to occur to the boy that he was in immediate danger. Instead, Christopher appeared concerned.

"What's the matter with you, boy?" Knives ground out, hate spitting icy sparks from his eyes.

"You shouldn't be up yet, Uncle Knives," Christopher said quietly, small mouth turned down in a worried frown. "Mommy says your shoulder isn't healing good."

"And why should I listen to either you, or your foul creature of a mother?"

Christopher was unconcerned with his uncle's shaking anger, even going so far as to smile and say, "Because we love you. Even if you do make daddy sad."

Knives dropped the kid unceremoniously back onto the kitchen chair. A bit of milk splattered on the table, and the plat of cookies rattled. Christopher hid the spilt milk by moving the plate over it, unaware of the range of conflicting thoughts raging through his uncle's mind.

"I don't want your _love_. Keep your filthy human emotions to yourself." He finally decided.

"Can't." Christopher shrugged, chugging his milk and wiping the mustache away with the back of his arm. "I know you don't mean what you say. That's why I can forgive you. Daddy's been teaching me peace and love like Aunt Rem taught him and you on the ship."

_Rem_. Oh how he hated that woman! It was all because of her! "You would do well to forget everything that foolish woman taught. They're conflicting ideals that are impossible to invoke outside her fairytale world!"

Christopher munched on another cookie silently. Knives crossed his arms, thinking he had won. Now, how to—

"I think that you think that way because it's too hard for you to actually try it." The little boy spoke wisely, continuing rapidly before Knives could utter outrage at being contradicted by a kid less than a fraction of his age.

"You see daddy's scars, all the proof of how he saves the butterfly _and_ the spider, and it's scary because he sacrifices himself to do it. Daddy's almost died so many times…" Christopher bit his lip, eyes glistening with unshed tears. The boy's words were striking a chord in Knives heart, something he tried to internally deny, but unconsciously sat waiting for him to go on.

"You want to hurt all the humans because they've hurt daddy so much, but…" Christopher turned his dripping eyes onto his cold uncle, somehow able to keep his voice steady albeit so quiet Knives had to strain his ears. "You hurt daddy more than the humans did, Uncle Knives. You were killing the butterfly."

Knives involuntarily flinched and staggered back away from the child as if he'd been burned. "_No!_ I was saving him from—"

"Nothing." He whispered, those damning eyes boring into the Plant, looking so much like his father in that expression of sad disappointment. "You just didn't want to share."

"He earned those scars himself! If he had listened to me they would all be dead and he'd be free of their persecution!" Knives growled jaw aching from teeth grinding. This was ridiculous! He was arguing with this runt about _morals_ of all things! Rem was the flawed thinker, not him! Why was his heart beating so fast?

"But would he be persecuted if you hadn't made his Angel Arm destroy July and Augusta? Would he be happy if everyone was dead? Could you stand to see him go mad?"

Oh this…this was too much! Knives was right! He was _right_, damnit! Nothing this brat said could prove otherwise! God, his head hurt. If his heart didn't stop beating like a jackhammer he'd topple over. A small hand on his thin wrist stopped the dingy kitchen from spinning. Knives sneered through the migraine, trying to stop the boy from leading him to sit in a chair at the table.

"Don't touch me, human! I did not give you permission! As soon as I'm fit to do so, I'll stop your breath and watch you suffocate into nothing!"

"If you really wanted to kill me, you would have done it earlier. And Aunt Milly and mommy too. But we're still here helping you." Christopher chided in a manner he vaguely recognized. If he cared, Knives would have placed it immediately. He'd save the conniption fit for later when he was in the shape for blood spilling.

"If you had any idea how much I am looking forward to your death…" Knives put two fingers to each temple and closed his eyes. Ah, that was at least a little better.

"I do though," Christopher said indignantly, hands on his little hips, the tears now dry on his cheeks and marked with blotchy redness. "I'm part of the same stuff you are."

Knives gave a disgusted grunt, not sure if this feeling of wretchedness was coming from the pain or…something else. He wouldn't think of it now. "I'll grant that you seem to have gained at least something resemblant of a bright mind."

"From you, right?" Christopher smiled and dragged his own chair nearer to his uncle before hopping up, and letting his too short legs dangle over the side. "I like you, Uncle Knives. You're not as bad as you come off."

Looks could kill…if his wasn't on the fritz! Damn.

Christopher rambled on. "It's kind of like an act you made to make the crew leave you alone, only it ate you up." He put a pondering finger on his lips, and tapped them several times. "Daddy knows the real you is still in there somewhere—" he poked his uncle in the chest, earning another look, "—and that's why he fought you and brought you back here. To save you from yourself. Only you're being a doof."

This child was infuriating! "I am not, nor have I ever been a 'doof' as you so elegantly put. Your theory is ridiculous."

The boy shook his head, and sent flaxen hair, too close to his own color, flying in every direction. "Nuh uh. It's fact. You _are_ a doof. A doof who's been clinging to an ideal he can't even prove, or is too chicken to prove."

Knives would not rise to the bait. He would act his age, or at least the age he looked. Reluctantly stamping down the urge to clamp a hand around that skinny throat, the Plant asked with patronizing dignity, "And how did you come to this laughable conclusion?"

"Easy." Christopher put it bluntly, "You have your own Angel Arm. The genocide could have easily been done with that, but you had to try and do it the hard way and teach daddy a 'lesson' by trying to make _him_ destroy everyone. You're a chicken because you didn't want to do it yourself. And _that's_ why daddy knows you don't mean what you say. Actions back up words, and you came off psychotic enough to be able to do it, but you didn't."

Christopher giggled at the stunned expression on his uncle's face. The little boy was quite proud of his detective work. It had been hard keeping quite so he could look into both his daddy's and uncle's minds for the answers they couldn't seem to find themselves.

"So I'm a chicken doof." Knives replied in a stunned, morose way. He wasn't sure, but it looked as if the boy, this snuff of a boy, had just shattered Knives' credibility. Quite efficiently, and without even trying! What if…maybe…possibly…Christopher was on to something…?

The half-Plant laughed for real, bouncing delightedly in his chair. "Yup! Wow, I _knew_ you were funny!"

"I was going to use it on Vash." Knives pointed out, trying to salvage his worldly visions from the scrap pile.

"You were pissed off," Christopher rolled his eyes. "Besides, even if your immediate mind didn't know daddy could counter your Angel Arm with his own, the primal Plant in you knew."

"You're a five year old intellectual potty mouth," Knives scorned. "You kiss your mother with that?"

Christopher smirked. "No, but I bet you wish I did."

Knives smiled bitterly and mournfully laid his forehead on the warm table. It was true. He _had_ tried to kill Vash, and not just that one time. He was the one responsible. Of all people, it had to be shoved into his head by a kid; talk about insult to injury.

"Hey…" Christopher frowned, worried about his favorite uncle again. He hadn't counted on Knives being such a self-pitying pile about it. Well, daddy did the same thing. Thank God mommy was so level headed. Sometimes.

Crawling off his chair, the blue-eyed boy instantly weaseled his thin arms around the older Plant's waist and clung there like a vine. No amount of cringing or pushing away could dislodge him.

"Get off of me!"

"It's okay," Christopher only clung tighter, muffling his words into Knive's cotton top (which had previously belonged to Vash, and now smelled like a mix of the two). "We still love you, Uncle Knives. Haven't you been listening to me?"

"Yes I've been listening to you! That was my second mistake after I failed to finish you off!" Knives had his hands in the air, reluctant to touch the parasite asphyxiating his middle more than he had to. The kid was strong for such a small frame.

"Oh shut up already, we've covered that part." Christopher ignored the glares that had begun to wane in power, and leaned his head into Knives' chest. The throbbing in the Plant's shoulder actually lessened the closer the kid came to touching it. Fine, he could stay there if it helped. That didn't mean Knives had to like it of course.

"Daddy's already forgiven you, he understands. He only wanted you to see what you were doing to yourself." The little voice continued to peck away at his brain. Knives clenched his jaw, shutting his eyes tight to will it away. Could he really say his actions were out of love? Christopher had planted enough doubt into his mind.

A bed creaked upstairs. So they were finally rising, were they?

"VASH! Can't you do that somewhere else!"

"But Meeeryl! Where else am I gonna do it? Milly won't let me do it downstairs anymore."

"Try _out doors_, you idiot!"

"They're coming down." Knives wanted to snap "I'm not deaf," but suddenly couldn't find the energy or want to do anything but sit there. Slowly, Christopher detached himself, and Knives felt him wander away back to his mother. Knives let out a tiny sigh; he sort of…liked being hugged. Not that he would ever admit it out loud.

The waking bodies above him went about their daily routines; Milly snoring loud enough to persuade Meryl to let her sleep longer, Vash still meditated (with an extra second added on for his brother), and Meryl went about herding the other two around like sheep. One of them would discover his vacant bed, most likely Meryl—

"MISS MERYL!" Or maybe Milly. "Mr. Vash! Mr. K-Knives is _gone_!"

Someone gasped and tripped as they franticly ran down the hall, wishing Milly was only hallucinating, or playing a joke. A few moments silence.

Vash's voice, abnormally quite: "Milly, Meryl, you two check the rooms up here. I'll take the downstairs. Scream or something if you find him!"

"I probably will anyway—"

"Meryl! Please!"

"Sorry…I'll take this side, you get the other, Milly."

"Yes ma'am! Do you think Mr. Knives is okay?"

That question surprised Knives; he tensed, hearing his brother tearing through the bathroom, living room, and closets. Really, Vash, the _closets_?

"He better be!" Meryl grumbled, holding Christopher close. "I've spent _weeks_ looking after that lump, day and night!"

The air moved, held in panic permeating through the waves. Vash inhaled sharply; Knives could feel the other Plant's heartbeat quicken as he held his breath. Slowly, he raised his head from where it had fallen to the table again, and looked coldly and stoic at Vash. The tall, spikey-haired blonde looked like a deer in headlights.

"Knives…" It was a rush of air. "You're awake."

"You've been…_busy_ while I've been sleeping, brother." Knives mouth twitched.

"Vash! He's not upstairs! Milly's looking outside—oh!" The short-tempered one sauntered quickly into the kitchen, and stopped abruptly in words and motion as she spotted the vision of the missing brother sitting at her kitchen table. He looked quite the worse for wear, though less like the corpse-like invalid she'd been helping to heal.

Knives' platinum hair was longer, a bit ragged, but there was color in the peaks of his defined cheekbones. The borrowed shirt by Vash was threadbare, and hanging on the points of near emaciated broad shoulders. Vash had many times expressed his worry for his withering away brother; it was like each new day required a tighter knot on Knives' drawstring bottoms.

The silence was broken carefully by a nervous, yet ecstatic that no one was dead thus far, Vash. "Do you…want something to eat?"

But Knives was not interested in food, despite his body's apparent need. His eyes, fervently retaining their powerful intensity, were locked onto Meryl. The small woman was holding her stomach like an expectant mother. Indeed, there was a prominent roundness to her middle. No Christopher. In _sight_…

"Knives, what's wrong?" Vash knew better than to take anything around his brother at face value, but there was a new element to those pale eyes he knew so well. All in all, Knives looked…shaken. Like a moth to the flame, or a Vash to someone in need, the outlaw went to his brother's side.

Without hesitation, Knives noted ruefully. Everything, all his scheming, his obsession to force suffering on Vash and make him see humans for the volatile creatures they really were…all for naught. It had only taken a look of pain, and Vash was there. That was the only thing he ever truly wanted, wasn't it?

"_Knives_!"

That voice had been calling him so for long. Why hadn't he heard it?

"Knives! Talk to me, _please_!"

"I'm s-so-sorrr…" Oh God, he couldn't even say it! What was wrong with him! Just say it, Knives! Tell him you're sorry, sorry for pushing Vash away and expecting him to keep coming back, sorry for the scars and the suffering and the murder, and—

Those were arms around his shoulders. Vash's arms. And those were tears burning, melting his eyes. It was humiliating, he didn't deserve it; it was awful! But he clung to it, desperately, like a drowning man clutches and savors his last ounce of oxygen.

_I'm not worthy to be your brother._

Vash did not bother hiding his shock. _What? What are you talking about? Knives, what's going on? You're scaring me! More than usual!_

_I'm so sorry Vash…_

There wasn't chance enough to be perplexed; Milly came running into the kitchen. "Mr. Knives isn't outsi—oh, you found him! Thank goodness! Where'd those cookies come from?"

Knives lifted his aching and weary head; yes, there were cookies sitting on a chipped plate. Next to those, a half-full glass of warm milk.

He _swore_ he heard a child-like giggle. Knives shook his head, a minute smile pulling at his lips.

_Insufferable brat._

_I love you too, Uncle Knives!_


End file.
